Dearest Dorian
by dax-fox
Summary: One Shot. The random musings of a dead man. If Basil could have talked to Dorian after his murder. Sounds really random I know. Just something I wrote for a bit of fun after reading chapter 13.  Written from Basil's POV


**A/N: The musings of a dead man. **

**Disclaimer: Story and character belong to Oscar Wilde.**

Dearest Dorian,

Oh, Dorian. Merely drawing out your name on my lips creates this gorgeous image of perfection in my mind's eye, even now. This deep admiration has driven me through so many dark days as I conjured up your beautiful features upon a blank canvas, despite the very nature of the admiration itself being something that made me hide away from the prejudiced eyes of society.

I have heard so many people tell of the "corruption" of your soul but I have always stood by the image I carved into my imagination long ago, before you began to change. I can admit that now, that you are not the boy I remember the one who still smiles sweetly from my memory. I used to deny it with the entirety of my soul, but how can I now that I have seen that portrait?

The portrait I had spent so much time creating with every loving caress of my brush against the canvas. I told you long ago that I felt I had even put myself into that painting. Too much of it in fact, although I feared that perhaps that had been a figment of my mind and actually I had hidden my true feelings deep within the layers of paint where no one but myself could find them.

But then I must wonder: was that ugly, withered image a view of not only your twisted soul but mine as well? Was that not the beast I had created by nurturing your vanity and not protecting you from the corrupting influences of others? You were oh so very tender back then; so very impressionable. Yourself as blank as a canvas that is still pristine and pure of all tarnish, then I allowed you to be introduced to Lord Henry and to become coloured by his vivid and vibrant ideas.

Oh Dorian. Forgive me my own sin. But never forget the sin you have bought on yourself. You have stolen the face of the Dorian I once knew and you wear it as a mask through all of your bad dealings instead of leaving it in the peace of death. For the face you hold is that of a dead boy, one who died with Sybil Vane; both of them tragic beings of beauty and fantasy too good to be true. You murdered them both Dorian. Even the name for such a horrid crime sounds despicable: murder.

He would have never done that, _my_ little Dorian. He was so delightful and kind. I wish you could have known him, truly know him and then you might lament his death as much as I. Like I said, for years I kept alive this memory in my heart of hearts but the portrait shattered it all.

I am glad you took my life Dorian.

I remember the shine of the knife, how it glinted like a precious stone. Do you remember when you used to collect them? You adored beautiful things, still do in fact. Does it help, I wonder, to ignore the revolting image of your true self, to surround yourself with beautiful things? Including, of course, the face of the dead boy. But you, you make that face ugly with your deeds. You think that you can fool all with that mask but it cannot hide the stain and scars the very sight of your actions has left in the depths of your eyes. I should know, for I have stared in to them so many times before.

I have seen them darken even though I tried to ignore it. Dorian, may I ask, to you do I take all the blame for this portrait which haunts you day and night? Where Sybil Vane once stood for Juliet and then transformed into an incompetent actress was I this wonderful artist who could recreate a beauty you did not even fully understand you had, utter perfection which was already slipping out of your grasp, but I had managed to capture it forever and now that it is mangled do I represent the evil that has infected you?

Do you hate me Dorian? You can tell me the truth. Dead men do not betray secrets. So let us discuss everything without fear. I will tell you my biggest secret first. Not the one of my admiration, you know that already all too well. No, this secret is quite different. I am selfish Dorian, deeply so. I adore all that is perfect and pure which is why I adored you so. But if you had been ugly even from the very beginning I would never have become so close to you. It is the honest but harsh truth. If I had been forced to watch you slowly degenerate into the creature depicted in that picture I would have distanced myself from you over time. It is cruel I know, but without your beauty you actually mean little to me. I hate to say this mind you, because it is not something even I want to believe but all the same it is true and I am ashamed of it. I have never found something as beautiful as you but that beauty was all lost in the mist of time. You were always just an object that filled me with joy just to look at, just as you surrounded yourself with precious stones of ruby, emerald and sapphire, music from all over the world, even exotic perfumes that could manipulate the mood, I surrounded myself with you. Your presence intoxicated me. Now it disgusts and repulses me. I hate myself for that. I am mortal Dorian. I am floored with a selfish fickleness. You see, you are not alone Dorian. I have come to realise that we all have evil streaks poisoning us from within. We all try to hide our corrupt self's from the world.

Oh, Dorian. Forgive me please. I love you. You are ugly, wretched and sinful, oh, these words shatter my heart. But if I can do one thing for you it is this, all I have left in the world: give you my love. I helped create you; if I abandoned you now dear one I would be the biggest monster of all. So even as you drive the cold knife through my neck and I cry with pain and my arms reach out to you, I will not take away my love and I will still pray for you from beyond the grave as I twist and turn in the fires of hell. I pray that one day you can be the Dorian I once knew, because you, my beautiful, wondrous murderer are a perfect stranger to me. But I still love you, because somewhere inside of you the poor dead boy is screaming and he was once my everything Dorian. Release him, oh god, release him from your foul grasp.

Dorian Gray. Dorian Gray.

Remember me. Even if only in hate God knows I deserve it.

Goodbye Dorian Gray...

**A/N Sorry this isn't very good. It's just something I typed up straight after reading about Basil's death. I absolutely adore The Picture of Dorian Gray. In particular I love Basil.**


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